


Sweeter than Honey

by ricekrispyjoints



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Interfaith, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Identity, M/M, mixed faith relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 05:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricekrispyjoints/pseuds/ricekrispyjoints
Summary: Yuuri loves learning all of Viktor’s little idiosyncrasies, like how he always touches a little decorative box by the door when they come home or go out, and how he sometimes lights a candle, but only on Friday nights.OR: Viktor has some unusual habits, Yuuri is super supportive, and Yakov is Over It.





	Sweeter than Honey

**Author's Note:**

> i'm totally late for rosh hashana but i wrote this between rosh hashana and yk so that still counts right ?
> 
> anyway this is a very, very lose interpretation of the bingo square "fatal flaw" from 18+OI Bingo-ber 19. hope you like it !

Yuuri’s adjustment to skating in Russia has gone a lot better than he’d assumed it would.

He’s anxious by nature; it was hard not to imagine worst-case scenarios sometimes, even if he knows _rationally _that they’re so unlikely as to be nearly impossible.

But even this is going better than he could have dreamed.

Yuuri is trying to learn some Russian, but he admits he’s not been putting as much effort into it as he could be; he’s so worried about proving himself to the other Russian skaters at the rink that he can’t help but focus on his skating.

Everyone speaks very good English, or enough to get by, and they’ve been quite welcoming.

Yuri Plisetsky even seems excited for Yuuri to be here, which warms Yuuri’s heart.

Living in Viktor’s spacious, modern apartment has been a very big adjustment from the onsen and his dorm in Detroit, but it’s beautiful, and it’s nice to live with a dog again.

Yuuri loves learning all of Viktor’s little idiosyncrasies, like how he always touches a little decorative box by the door when they come home or go out, and how he sometimes lights a candle, but only on Friday nights. 

He also went through a phase last spring where he wouldn’t eat bread, noodles, or rice: thankfully, that only lasted about a week. (Viktor had been very cagey about his new “diet”, and Yuuri hates that word with a passion. They don’t talk about it.)

Overall, though, moving to Russia, his blossoming relationship with Viktor that seems to only get smoother and stronger with each passing week, how accepting Team Russia has been with him, and of course his skating…

This might be the happiest Yuuri has ever been.

He knows that he and Viktor should talk about this whole “engagement” of theirs—first of all, is it even _real_, or are these rings really just the good luck charm that Yuuri intended?—but he doesn’t want to disturb the equilibrium they’ve found together.

They have time.

It can wait.

***

It’s April and technically the off-season, but they’re all at the rink anyway.

Well, “all”—Mila, Yuri Plisetsky and Georgi all left about an hour ago, so now, it’s just Yuuri and Viktor.

And apparently Yakov, who looks to be on his way out. “Wrap it up, Viktor,” he calls sternly. “We need to get going. Sundown is in an hour, and I expect you to be there _on time_.”

“I know, Yakov, I haven’t forgotten,” Viktor says, a fake smile that telegraphs “leave us alone immediately” plastered on his face.

“I know you slacked off in Japan,” Yakov says meaningfully, though Yuuri doesn’t quite understand.

“You have something planned tonight?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor waves his hand. “Just a dinner that Yakov is hosting. Family thing.”

Yuuri nods. He knows Viktor isn’t legally or genetically related to Yakov, but they may as well be. He tries not to feel left out; it’s a family thing, and Yuuri isn’t family.

(Yet?)

In any case, he will not begrudge Viktor spending time with his quasi-adoptive father. He still feels responsible for the rift between them when Viktor came to Japan last year, and he won’t get in the way of them mending their relationship.

*

When Viktor comes home from the dinner at Yakov’s, he’s in a good mood.

He’s more than a little tipsy, but Yuuri has seen him much worse, and at least he’s not stripping his clothes off in public.

“Yuuri,” he slurs a bit, a big sloppy grin on his face. “Will you support me in my time of need?”

Yuuri is reading a book, stretched out on the couch. Makkachin is on the other end of the couch, but she hops off when Viktor flops on top of Yuuri. 

Yuuri grunts with the weight, and puts his book down, but decides to play along. “Of course, Viktor. How can I help you?”

“I want _chametz,_” Viktor says.

“I don’t know that word,” Yuuri says gently. “I need you to say it in English.”

“Mm, don’t know it in English,” Viktor says.

“Then I’m not sure how to help you. Can you describe it?”

A quiet snore is the only reply he gets.

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

He struggles to wriggle out from under Viktor and goes to the bedroom to go to sleep instead.

In the morning, Viktor is already up and cooking eggs for breakfast.

Normally, he eats some sort of granola or oat mixture, so Yuuri is surprised by the change. In fact, he doesn’t even see the usual cereal choice in the cupboards.

“Did you forget to buy your cereal thing this week?” Yuuri asks.

“No, just trying something different!” Viktor says, and Yuuri can’t help but detect a hint of insincerity in that cheerfulness.

“If you put rice and ketchup in it, it’s pretty good,” Yuuri tries.

“No rice,” Viktor says. “We’re going grain free this week!”

“Does ‘we’ include me?” Yuuri bemoans.

Viktor pouts. “You would flaunt your carbohydrates in front of me?”

Yuuri isn’t sure how he’s meant to cook if he can’t even use _rice_, but he supposes he can try. “I … guess I can try it.”

“Yay!” Viktor says. “You can have these eggs then, and I’ll make some more for myself.”

“It’s alright, I can make my own.”

“No, I insist. As a thank you for joining me in no-bread hell.” He kisses Yuuri sweetly, and Yuuri accepts without any further protest.

Throughout the week, Viktor shows him how to make “pizza” out of some very bland crackers that are apparently Yakov-approved, despite the fact that Yuuri is certain there’s still grains in them.

Viktor digs out some old recipe cards from when he’s apparently gone on this diet before. They are all, apparently, creative uses of the strange crackers, or failing that, potato based.

Yuuri really doesn’t understand what this diet is meant for—it’s often quite caloric, which Viktor justifies by saying “if I’m going to suffer, it’s going to at least taste good.”

The diet only lasts a week, and Yuuri is more than a little relieved.

**

Yuri Plisetsky has definitely matured over the year that Yuuri has gotten to know him, but he remains an antagonistic bratty teenager sometimes.

They’re in the dance studio stretching and warming up, and Yuri is snickering with Mila in the corner.

“I dare you,” Mila giggles.

Three words that Yuri cannot resist.

“Oi, Viktor,” he calls. “I thought of a great idea that will make you _and _Yakov happy – you can wear your _kippah _to cover your bald spot!”

“Yuri, you’re so mean!” Viktor wails, rushing to the mirror to inspect his hair.

Mila explodes into peals of laughter, throwing her head back with a deep belly laugh.

Yuuri is assuming a _kippah _is some sort of… hat? Perhaps it was a gift from Yakov that Viktor dislikes.

Clearly, it’s a sensitive subject, so he isn’t going to bring it up again.

**

The off-season is winding down—or perhaps winding up—and the new season is right around the corner.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says one evening. “I want to talk to you about something, before the season hits.”

Viktor looks concerned. “What’s on your mind?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath to prepare himself. “I… Last year, in Barcelona. The whole… thing with the rings, I suppose. We haven’t really talked? About…”

“I told you we’d get married when you win gold, didn’t I?” Viktor smiles.

“Yes, I remember,” Yuuri says, blushing. “But I just… wasn’t sure if that was serious, or if it was just a joke.”

“Yuuri, do you…Do you think this is a joke?” Viktor asks, holding up the hand wearing the gold band.

He sounds hurt, which was certainly not the intention, so Yuuri backpedals. “N-no! I just… we haven’t really _talked _about it, and I just want to make sure we’re both uh, on the same page. In plain language.”

“How much plainer do you want me to get than ‘we’ll get married when you win the gold’?”

“Well phrasing it that way sounds like you only want me if I win!” Yuuri says, exasperated. “I want to know—I don’t know. I want to know _why _you want to marry me. I’m worried that this isn’t a serious thing, and we don’t _talk _about it, and I know that’s partially on me, but—”

“Yuuri.” Viktor approaches him slowly, taking his shoulders in his hands and meeting his gaze evenly. “I love you. The gold medal thing is just… timing. I don’t know. Of course I would still want to marry you if you don’t win gold. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

Hearing Viktor say ‘I love you’ like that sends a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the most serious sounding one by far. He often says it after Yuuri makes a joke, or lands a quad, or once, to Yuuri’s embarrassment, while they were getting hot and heavy.

It was exactly what Yuuri wanted—no, needed—to hear.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and leans his forehead against Viktor’s. Viktor kisses him gently, but Yuuri doesn’t let him pull back. Instead, he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into Viktor’s mouth and eliciting a groan.

When he’s satisfied, he finally lets Viktor go.

“You should kiss me like that more often,” Viktor grins, eyes a little hazy.

“I love you too.”

***

“Yakov?” Viktor asks, knocking on the door to the office. He opens it without waiting for a reply, and Yakov rolls his eyes.

“Please, come in, Vitya,” he says dryly. “I wasn’t busy or hoping for some quiet.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… important.”

He sounds serious, so Yakov acquiesces. He closes the paperwork he was looking at, folds his hands on the desk and waits for Viktor to start talking.

It takes longer than he’d expected.

“I’m sorry that I’m asking you this, and not like… a friend or something. But Georgi is a mess and Yuri is still a kid and honestly, I have no idea what to make of Mila’s opinions on this matter. So I thought it best to come to someone more mature. Level-headed.”

Is Viktor seriously coming to Yakov for _relationship advice_? Yakov has already had to give Viktor The Talk when he was a teenager—he recently relived that hell with Yuri Plisetsky—so he can handle this, he thinks.

“Yuuri recently asked me if our engagement was a joke,” Viktor says, his voice small. “And now I’m paranoid that well, all of _this_ is… not what I thought it was.”

“And what did you think it was, Vitya?”

“A real, honest, loving relationship?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Was that so crazy of me?”

Yakov sighs. “Yuuri looks at you like the sun shines out of your _tuches_, and you think he doesn’t love you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant. He tells you he loves you, he _acts _like he loves you. What is there to doubt?”

“The fact that he asked me if it was a joke makes it pretty easy to doubt!” Viktor cries.

“No, Vitya. That means he doubts _you_. _Your _actions. _Your _feelings.”

Viktor looks like Yakov just stabbed him in the chest.

Good.

“But I tell him I love him all the time!”

“Well clearly, something you’re doing makes him unsure. So think about that, and see what you can do to fix it.”

Viktor takes a shaky breath. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Yakov is glad that Viktor has found someone. Really, he is.

It’s completely ridiculous _how_ this all happened, but Yuuri has been good for Viktor. Hell, he got him to come back to skating (though he’s also partially to blame for Viktor leaving in the first place, if you ask Yakov).

But there’s one thing that Yakov is certain Viktor has forgotten.

Now, Yakov will be the first to say he is _not _Viktor’s father. But he feels duty bound to remind Viktor of one slightly major _concern_ he has about Yuuri Katsuki.

“Vitya, since we’re already talking about your personal life—which, by the way, is not something we need to make a habit of—I have to ask you something. Have you talked to a rabbi about him?”

Viktor’s face is all the answer Yakov needs.

“I’m sure we could find someone who wouldn’t mind that he’s _goyische_, but if you don’t have at least _some _aspects of a Jewish wedding, I would be more than a bit upset, you understand. I’m not trying to be old-fashioned here—I can’t imagine he’d want to convert, after all—but—”

“He doesn’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“He… I haven’t told him.”

“How on earth have you been dating him for this long and haven’t bothered to mention you’re Jewish?”

“Well I mean, it’s not like I’m super religious—I ate pork in Japan—oh don’t give me that look.”

“I raised you better than that.”

“Well pork and shellfish are everywhere and I gotta say, _shuls_ are pretty thin on the ground in Hasetsu.”

Yakov grunts. “Viktor, you need to tell him.”

“I thought I was supposed to keep my Jewishness quiet,” Viktor snaps.

“He’s not some random person on the street who might be a bigot, Vitya!” Yakov roars. “If you’re going to marry this man, he deserves to know!”

Viktor looks like a child, and Yakov only feels a little bad for being so harsh. It’s the truth, and Viktor needs to face it.

“You talk about having an honest relationship, and yet you haven’t even told him this? What does he think you do on Fridays?”

“I told him I have a weekly dinner with you.”

“So you’re lying to him.”

“No, we have dinner together every shabbat.”

“Viktor, you’re a fool.”

Viktor crosses his arms like a contrary child.

“Why haven’t you told him?” Yakov asks.

“You know I’m not that religious, Yakov.”

“You keep _shabbat_,” Yakov insists.

“It’s … cultural, and comforting.”

“That’s even more reason to tell him then,” Yakov insists. “If it’s something that’s part of your life, he should know about it. How would you feel if you found out he was hiding a major part of himself from you?”

“I’m not hiding,” Viktor complains.

Yakov glares. “Tell him, Vitya. Don’t be a fool.”

**

Viktor doesn’t know how to bring it up, so he simply doesn’t for a while.

This works just fine until he checks his calendar, then checks the training schedule he set up for Yuuri next week.

“Well, we’re going to have to adjust that, I suppose,” he murmurs to himself. He can’t believe he forgot something so basic. It’s nearly October, after all.

“What was that?” Yuuri asks.

“Just a slight change to the schedule,” Viktor replies.

“Oh?”

“I forgot about something; I’m not available on Monday. You can do a studio and conditioning day, maybe. We’ll switch it with Tuesday?”

“Um, alright. Is everything okay?”

Viktor smiles. Yuuri is always so concerned, it’s really very thoughtful.

It also presents the perfect opportunity to casually mention that Viktor is Jewish, and he’s busy because it’s the Jewish new year, and Yakov will want him to go to _shul_to hear the _shofar. _“Yes, no need to worry. I just have… a meeting.”

Yuuri looks at him, clearly puzzled. Viktor doesn’t have _meetings_. He makes Yakov handle his meetings, most of the time. Though, Yakov _will _be there… “With Yakov,” Viktor adds.

This apparently only makes Yuuri even _more _confused. “All day?”

“Well, all morning. Should be done by 12, 12:30 I think.”

“Well… alright. We can switch Monday with Tuesday, that’s fine.”

“It’s… a holiday,” Viktor says, carefully.

“You have a meeting for a holiday?” Yuuri asks.

“It’s… a religious holiday.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were religious,” Yuuri says with interest.

Viktor sighs with relief that Yuuri isn’t mad about this revelation.

“You’re not religious, I just… didn’t want to bring it up,” Viktor hedges.

“Well, I suppose I do some things that are sort of religious,” Yuuri muses. “Spiritual, perhaps. Like the incense for Vicchan.”

Oh, Viktor hadn’t thought of that.

“I don’t know much about it, though. Do I wish you a happy holiday?” Yuuri asks.

“For this one, we say _shana tova_,” Viktor says.

“_Shana tova_, then,” Yuuri says, smiling happily.

“Well, it’s not the new year _yet_.”

“New year?”

“We have our own calendar.”

“I see.”

“Though technically we have more than one new year,” Viktor muses. “Well, this is _the _new year, from a calendar perspective. We change the year at such.”

“This sounds very confusing,” Yuuri says, warily.

“Welcome to Judaism,” Viktor laughs.

“_Oh,_” Yuuri says meaningfully. “You’re Jewish!”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea. I feel like I know even less about Judaism than I do about Christianity, so you’ll have to teach me.”

“You would be interested in that?” Viktor asks.

“Of course,” Yuuri says. “If it’s important to you, then I want to learn all I can about it.”

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

Yuuri blushes delightfully, and Viktor can’t help but reach over and caress his cheek. Yuuri nuzzles into his hand shyly.

“Love you, too,” Yuuri says. 

*

Yuuri begins his search on the internet, since he doesn’t know if the local Russian library has English-language books on Judaism.

He quickly discovers that there are many kinds of Judaism, but they mostly seem to be in America. He wonders what kind of Jewish Viktor is.

Based on the fact that he uses electricity on Fridays and Saturdays, he doesn’t _think _Viktor is Orthodox.

He’s mildly horrified to discover that Jewish people aren’t supposed to eat pork, but Viktor ate _a lot_ of katsudon in Japan.

Yuuri reads about the Jewish new year, discovering that the date isn’t fixed on the calendar he’s used to.

He reads about apples and honey and pomegranate seeds; he learns about the ram’s horn called the _shofar_ that announces the new year.

It’s all deeply interesting, and yet seems _extremely _complicated.

Apparently, in ten days, there’s _another _holiday, albeit a more somber one.

From what Yuuri can tell, Viktor will not be at the rink for that day, either—skating while fasting seems like a bad idea.

He looks at other Jewish holidays, and discovers Viktor’s bizarre “diet” last spring was actually for _pesach_.

Yuuri wants to do his best to support Viktor, so he vows to keep reading and learning as best he can.

*

Viktor is already gone when Yuuri wakes up the morning of the first full day of Rosh Hashana.

Yuuri would very much like to just… skip training today, stay wrapped in the warm blankets of the bed with Makkachin snuggled up against him as she usually does when Viktor has left.

But instead he takes a deep breath, letting it out with a groan, and then throws the blankets off in one swift motion.

He instantly regrets it, curling up on himself, and Makkachin looks affronted at the blankets having been tossed on her.

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles, and Makkachin makes big imploring eyes at him, so he pets her for a few minutes before he gets up definitively.

He goes about his usual morning routine, but when he gets to the rink, he’s the only one there.

As in, it’s not even open.

Yuuri knew that Yakov and Viktor were absent, but did that mean the entire rink closed down?

Yuuri texts Viktor quickly, on the off chance that he’ll see his phone, and sets about making a backup plan.

He was supposed to use the studio at the rink to warm up, do some weights and conditioning in the gym, and then eat lunch; Viktor would join him in the afternoon.

But with the rink locked, he’s not sure where he can find a studio-like space, and he definitely doesn’t have weights access anywhere else.

Viktor, predictably, doesn’t reply.

He only has Yuri Plisetsky’s number, so he texts that as well. Six full minutes pass with no reply, so either Yuri is still asleep, or he’s also at the service.

It occurs to Yuuri that he might be the only non-Jewish skater at the rink.

With a sigh, he decides to go back to Viktor’s place, dress a little warmer, and go for a run in the neighborhood.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry!” Viktor exclaims when he arrives at the apartment a bit after one in the afternoon. “I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t have a key to get in—the owners are also Jewish, and well…”

“It’s fine, Viktor,” Yuuri reassures him. “I’ll just have to borrow your keys next time, or arrange something different.”

“I feel bad, though.”

“I still got a run in, and I did some other conditioning things as I could in the park.”

“Well, that’s good. Let’s make the most of the afternoon, I have a _seder_ this evening at around 6:30.”

“What’s a seder?”

“You can think of it like a community meal,” Viktor says. “We say some blessings and have some foods that we eat… for symbolism?”

“I read about the apples and honey,” Yuuri says.

“You read about Rosh Hashana?” Viktor asks, eyes full of wonder.

“Well, yes?” Yuuri shrugs. “I was curious what it was, and I didn’t want to accidentally ask you something rude, so I read what I could find.”

Viktor beams. “You’re wonderful, Yuuri.”

Yuuri blushes, but he’s actually quite pleased that Viktor isn’t upset that he read about it. “Well, I mostly read American websites, so I don’t know if it’s exactly the same, but…”

“The basics are the same no matter where you are,” Viktor says, “though admittedly some things vary regionally, or by branch.”

“Which branch are you?” Yuuri asks shyly. “Uh, if that’s not rude.”

“Not rude at all,” Viktor smiles. “American Judaism is quite a bit different from what we have in Europe, but there’s the uh, stricter sect of Orthodox, and then a more let’s say ‘relaxed’ branch, which is called ‘Liberal’ here.”

“I take it you’re in the Liberal branch?”

“What gave me away?” Viktor laughs.

He seems so at ease talking about all of this with Yuuri, and Yuuri feels like they’re closer than ever.

They end up not going to the rink after all, talking for hours about Viktor’s upbringing, and what he likes most about being Jewish, and answering Yuuri’s shy questions about the new year and its activities.

Viktor’s heart leaps when his phone rings. “Oh shit, it’s Yakov.”

It’s 6:10pm: Viktor is supposed to be at the seder in twenty minutes.

They leap up off the couch where they had been talking for so long, and Viktor rushes to freshen up, reassuring Yakov over the phone that he’s on his way.

When he hangs up, he hears Yuuri bustling in the kitchen, perhaps tidying dishes or something, and he has an idea.

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls as he buttons up his fresh shirt.

“Yes?”

“Do you… want to come with me to the seder tonight?”

Yuuri looks surprised at the offer. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s not intruding if I invited you,” Viktor reasons. “Besides, this isn’t a _strictly_ religious event—it’s not a service, we’re just going to say a few blessings over some food and eat together.”

“I… Are you sure it wouldn’t be inappropriate for me to be there?”

“Yes, Yuuri, I’m sure. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll ask Yakov first, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Yuuri seems to hesitate, so Viktor makes the decision for him. “I’ll ask Yakov, and then you can decide, alright?”

“Alright.”

Viktor calls Yakov back, and Yakov picks up almost immediately.

_“What_, Vitya. I’m preparing food.”

“No you’re not, Liliya is,” Viktor says with a shrug. “I invited Yuuri to come to the seder with me. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“If it means you’ll be here on time, then it’s wonderful. Get your ass over here.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor says, pulling away from the phone a bit, “Yakov thinks it’s wonderful if you come!”

“That’s not what I said,” Yakov grumbles in Viktor’s ear, but Viktor ignores it.

“See you soon, Yakov!” he chimes, and hangs up. “Well?”

“What do I need to wear?” Yuuri says, and Viktor lights up.

“I’ll pick out an outfit for you!”

Five minutes later, Yuuri is dressed in dark grey slacks and a matching jacket with a pale blue dress shirt underneath. Viktor keeps trying to get him to undo a couple of buttons, but Yuuri insists that they stay closed.

“This is a religious event, Viktor!” he whines. “I don’t need to look… ‘sexy.’”

Viktor grins wolfishly. “Too late, you always look sexy.”

Yuuri blushes and then grabs Viktor’s wrist and tugs him towards the door.

“Come on, we’re going to be late.”

They arrive at least ten minutes late to Yakov’s, but they are not the only ones arriving at the time, so it’s only a stern glare from Yakov that greets them at the entry to the venue.

Yuuri feels desperately out of place despite the brief explanation Viktor gave him and the reassurances that he wouldn’t be imposing at all.

They shake hands with other members of the congregation, saying _shana tova_.

Yuuri mumbles it back to the man at the sign in table, who seems to realize that at the very least, Yuuri’s Russian isn’t all that fluent.

Viktor directs him to take a _kippah_ from the basket of spares and helps Yuuri clip it it in place with a barrette like he’s seen Yuuko use.

Yuri Plisetsky seems less than impressed to see Yuuri here, and Yuuri shrinks a bit, hunching his shoulders.

“Who invited the _goy_?” Yuri asks Viktor pointedly.

“Yura,” Yakov says, voice a warning. “I told Viktor he could bring Katsuki. He’s welcome here.”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“Yuuri has been learning about Rosh Hashana,” Viktor says proudly. “He’s an _educated _goy.”

Yakov seems pleasantly surprised to learn that Yuuri has made efforts to learn, but Yuri simply scoffs.

“Whatever. I’m going to stake out the seats as close to the buffet as possible,” he says.

“It’s good to see Yura proud of being Jewish for once,” Yakov says sarcastically, and Viktor laughs.

“He won’t be so proud next week during the fast,” Viktor teases.

“Every time he complains of being hungry or thirsty, he will skate suicides at practice the next day.”

Yuuri gulps almost comically at the threat, and Yakov _nearly _smiles.

As the rest of the participants arrive, Yuuri and Viktor shake hands and introduce themselves. Yuuri is pleased that he can at least introduce himself in Russian, though he struggles to remember anyone’s name.

A particularly insistent gentleman whose name Yuuri has definitely forgotten (Sergei, maybe?) is asking questions in rapid-fire Russian that has Viktor struggling to translate quickly enough, when finally, someone with a deep, booming voice asks everyone to take their seats, as they’re going to begin soon.

Relieved, Yuuri follows Viktor to sit at one of the long tables set up.

The man, who Viktor explains is the president of the synagogue, makes a short speech about things the community has done over the past year and thanks members of the council for their work organizing this and other events. Viktor translates quietly in Yuuri’s ear, though it only serves to make Yuuri feel more out of place.

Just one more thing he doesn’t understand; one more reason he doesn’t belong by Viktor’s side.

There’s a platter with several items on it that Yuuri had read about: _challah_, apple slices, a bowl of honey, basil leaves, some sort of squash, and an egg.

“No pomegranates?” Yuuri whispers.

“I don’t think there are any Sephardim here, so no, we don’t do pomegranate seeds.”

“Oh, alright.”

There’s a card on the table with the blessings first in Hebrew, then in Russian.

Yuuri can’t really read either so he just holds the card in front of him and tries to look like he knows what’s going on.

They begin with a glass of wine, and Yuuri carefully waits to drink until he sees everyone else doing so. He also copies the other men in the room who hold their _kippot_ as they drink their wine. He’s already paranoid that it will fall out of his hair, so seeing others holding it makes him feel reassured that he’s not the only one.

Next comes the _challah_, dipped in honey, followed by apples (also dipped in honey), then basil leaves.

Viktor reads the card to Yuuri, explaining that the basil is meant to be sniffed, and the blessing is said.

Everyone eats the basil instead of just smelling it, which Viktor shrugs at and pops the leaf in his mouth as well.

It’s bitter, and Yuuri doesn’t particularly want to eat the rest, but he does anyway.

The squash is next, and then the leader of the ceremony holds up a fish head, wrapped in tin foil.

Viktor tells him that they just use one fish head for everyone, instead of having a dozen fish heads all over the room to stink everything up.

The blessings are often melodic, and Yuuri is captivated although he doesn’t really understand what’s being said.

“I’ll translate the blessings later, if you’d like,” Viktor whispers, and Yuuri nods gratefully, contenting himself to wait.

When all of the food on the platter has been blessed and eaten, someone speaks up, asking a question that makes several others murmur.

“She asked why there’s an egg on the platter,” Viktor says. “And no one seems to remember.”

“I thought it was to have something round that represents the circle of life?” Yuuri says, having just read an article about the meaning behind each food.

Viktor looks pleasantly shocked that Yuuri has this answer, and he calls out to share the information.

This time, Yakov _does _smile, and nods approvingly in Yuuri’s direction.

There’s a collective “oooh!” as the answer is accepted, and then some more discussion, it seems, before the officiant announces that the buffet of food is now open, and people may begin serving themselves.

Yuri is off like a shot to get food, but Yuuri waits to follow Viktor up.

There’s a variety of dishes, all _milchig_, and therefore vegetarian or fish-based, apparently, with respect to keeping meat and dairy separate.

“Kosher rules are a bit complicated,” Viktor tries to explain. “So for community meals like this, we keep things as strict as possible, so that even our most observant members can eat freely without worries.”

“That makes sense,” Yuuri says. “Do you keep things kosher usually?”

Viktor shrugs. “Sometimes I try harder than others,” he admits. “Like in Japan, it was easy to keep dairy and meat separate, since we didn’t eat much dairy, but pork and seafood, on the other hand…”

He grins sheepishly.

“You should have told me,” Yuuri chides. “I could have made you chicken instead of pork or something.”

“Yes, he should have told you,” Yakov grumbles, pushing past them at the buffet table to grab the last slice of smoked salmon.

“Yakov!” Viktor complains. “I was going to take that.”

“What’s the saying? You snooze you don’t get salmon?” Yakov says with a smirk, obviously knowing the correct expression.

They load up their plates with a variety of salads and vegetables, as well as some sort of fish dish that Viktor refuses to put on his own plate but insists Yuuri tries.

“It’s a very traditional food,” he hedges. “You should at least try it—you wanted the Jewish experience, didn’t you?”

“Is it not good, though?” Yuuri asks, staring at the greyish fish in a white sauce on his plate. There are apparently peas in there, as well, and perhaps… onions?

He resists the urge to sniff it, sensing that it would be rude.

“Plenty of people like it,” Viktor says diplomatically.

Their plates full, they return to their seats and Viktor chats with Yakov and Georgi while Yuuri samples his food.

There’s a mushroom bake that’s quite good, as well as a very flavorful beet salad.

He ends up eating everything on the plate except for the fish, which he continues to regard dubiously.

Yuri sees him and smirks knowingly. “Have you tasted it yet?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“Just try it. It’s technically just fish. Maybe you’ll even like it.”

The way he says it makes Yuuri think he really won’t; then again, he eats a lot more seafood than Viktor and Yuri, so perhaps he’s psyching himself up for no reason.

He squares his shoulders and decides he’s going to just eat it.

Yuri elbows Mila and nods at Yuuri, and both of them watch him as he scoops up the gefilte fish on his fork, looks at it sternly for a moment, and then takes a bite.

He mostly tastes the cream sauce at first, until something salty hits his tongue, too. As he begins to chew, though, he understands why Viktor must not enjoy it.

The texture is very _peculiar_, he thinks. It’s too smooth for it to feel like any fish Yuuri has ever eaten, and yet it’s also a bit grainy.

He does his best to swallow it down and not let the displeasure show on his face.

“Well?” Mila asks, grinning.

“It was fine,” Yuuri says tactfully.

“No one under the age of sixty-five likes gefilte fish,” Yuri scoffs. “Don’t fucking lie.”

“The taste was alright,” Yuuri tries again.

Mila and Yuri both frown, crossing their arms. “Say it,” Mila says. “Say it was disgusting.”

“It was…”

“Nasty?” Yuri suggests. “Revolting?”

“Confusing,” Yuuri says after a moment. “Not what I expected from something called fish.”

Viktor seems to have caught on to the fact that Yuuri had tasted the dreaded dish. “Aww, did you eat it without me?”

“You were busy,” Yuuri says.

“You didn’t miss much,” Yuri complains. “He didn’t do that weird shiver people do when they taste it, usually.”

“Well I still wanted to see it,” Viktor pouts. “What did you think?”

“As I told Yurio, it was uh, unexpected.”

“It’s uh, unpleasant, if we’re trying to be polite,” Viktor grimaces. “But when people think of Ashke food, gefilte fish is one of the first things that comes to mind. Consider this your official welcoming: you’ve passed the trial of the gefilte fish.”

The rest of the evening is pleasant, and Yuuri, not particularly chatty to begin with, lets everyone chatter around him and he tries to pick up what he can.

He keeps a sort of mental list of a few questions here and there that he wants to ask Viktor later, but he doesn’t want to steal Viktor’s evening of celebrating the new year by forcing him to explain every little thing Yuuri doesn’t understand.

They make it home around eleven at night, full of good food (gefilte fish excepted) and wine, and Viktor is warm and content as he leans into Yuuri.

“I’m really glad you came with tonight,” Viktor says. “I… I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you about this, I just… it didn’t feel so important, I guess. Maybe it’s because it’s the days of awe that I feel so much closer to my Jewishness than usual, but I’m happy I can share this part of me with you, too.”

“Of course, Viktor,” Yuuri reassures him. “I’m glad you feel comfortable sharing this with me, and that I can support you better now. I think I understand why you didn’t say anything before, but I’m happy you decided to tell me about your culture and religion. Like I said, if it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

“I really, really love you,” Viktor says sincerely, and the honesty in his voice makes Yuuri blush to the tips of his ears.

He kisses Viktor sweetly so he can’t see how red Yuuri is.

“_Shana tova_,” Viktor says when they pull apart.

“_Shana tova,”_ Yuuri whispers back.

*

A little over a week later, Viktor is at _shul _for Yom Kippur, and Yuuri has the day to himself.

He’s got a training menu and the keys to the rink this time, so technically, he should be doing those things.

But he read something this morning—something worrying.

And now he’s having a _slight _panic attack about what he read.

He had signed up for a mailing list intended for people looking to convert to Judaism, because it explained things in simple terms, and he thought it would be a nice way to continue learning along the way.

Except that this morning’s newsletter arrived, and the headline was “Interfaith Marriages”. Yuuri had opened the email with more than a little trepidation, fearing that it would condemn his relationship with Viktor.

According to the article, _most _non-religious people who planned to marry Jewish people converted for their partner.

Was Viktor expecting that of him? Did he think Yuuri was planning on it, since he’s been learning more about Judaism?

Even worse, was Viktor’s family expecting Yuuri to convert?

Was Yuuri going to be _allowed _to marry Viktor if he didn’t convert?

What did converting involve, anyway?

He decides this last question is the best place to start—apparently in Christianity, it’s as simple as a little baptism and saying you believe in Jesus or something, according to the missionaries he saw in Detroit.

Maybe Judaism was similar?

It takes Yuuri about three minutes of reading to discover that converting to Judaism is a much more complicated process than some holy water and the sign of the cross.

Apparently, the conversion process takes around a year, including multiple classes, attending services, practicing _shabbat_, learning Hebrew… it was very involved. To make things more complicated, people are typically discouraged from converting “just” because their significant other is Jewish. Some rabbis outright refuse people who don’t show a more substantial interest in Judaism itself.

Yuuri doesn’t consider himself a very religious person, and while he’s more than happy to learn about Judaism in order to support Viktor, he isn’t sure he’s really interested in converting.

Viktor doesn’t seem like he’s very hardcore about his religion, and Yuuri thinks he knows Viktor well enough that _Viktor _wouldn’t be the one telling Yuuri he had to convert.

But would Viktor’s family insist?

By family, Yuuri realizes the real question is Yakov: Viktor has never so much as mentioned his biological family, and Yuuri isn’t one too pry.

Yakov had seemed pleased that Yuuri had come to the seder last week, but what if he took that to mean that Yuuri was going to convert?

Yuuri can realize that his thoughts are starting to snowball out of control again, so he takes a deep breath like he’s learned to do over years of anxiety.

He focuses on what he knows for a fact, and concludes that it isn’t much.

He needs to talk to Yakov.

*

Viktor isn’t quite his usual chipper self the day or two after Yom Kippur, though he insists everything is fine.

The holiday is a somber one, after all, and inclines one to a lot of self-reflection and a focus on righting past wrongs.

If even Viktor is this heavily affected, Yuuri figures that Yakov is probably even less approachable than usual.

He’ll wait a few more days to talk to Yakov.

*

Things at the rink pick back up again after the Days of Awe, and it’s all for the best, as the competitive season is nearly in full swing.

The Grand Prix assignments came out, and everyone is working hard for the first events.

Yuuri will be competing at the Trophée Éric Bompard and Skate Canada this year, while Viktor is at Skate America and NHK.

Yuri Plisetsky is at Cup of China and Skate America as well.

They’ll make it work.

Yakov is his usual self again, and Yuuri senses his time is running out, so one day while Viktor is in the dance studio, Yuuri slips down to Yakov’s office and knocks on the door.

“_Da?”_ Yakov calls, so Yuuri opens the door hesitantly.

“It’s me,” he says, and Yakov seems surprised to see him, but not unhappy.

“Ah, Katsuki. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Yuuri’s mostly convinced the expression is just out of politeness, and not because Yakov thinks it’s a pleasure to speak with Yuuri, but he tries to take it as a good sign that Yakov doesn’t sound sarcastic, at least.

“I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I guess there hasn’t been a very good time,” Yuuri begins as he sits in the chair on the other side of Yakov’s desk. “It’s something that’s been on my mind since Yom Kippur, though, and I uh, wanted to ask you…”

He trails off, unsure how to proceed.

Certainly, he had played this conversation out in his mind countless times, but suddenly he’s not so sure of the version he decided on.

Yakov sighs a bit impatiently, and Yuuri panics. “I want to ask for your approval to marry Viktor even though I’m not Jewish!”

Yakov stares at Yuuri for a moment, as though he didn’t understand what just came out of Yuuri’s mouth, and honestly, Yuuri can’t really blame him.

“You’re asking… for my approval?”

“Um, yes.”

“You know I’m not really his father, right? My opinion on his personal life doesn’t actually matter.”

“You’re not his biological father, no, but I know Viktor considers you family. And he does value your opinion greatly.”

“This doesn’t mean I can give approval or not for who he wants to marry,” Yakov says.

“I just… I read about inter-faith couples, and well, I don’t really have a _faith_ but basically some communities talked about how families wouldn’t approve if the uh, fiancé wasn’t Jewish, and they would make the person convert, but I don’t know if I could really do that honestly, which seems inappropriate, but I don’t want Viktor to have to choose between his religion and culture and marrying me, so—”

“Katsuki.”

Yuuri stares at him, mouth agape like a fish.

“We are not Orthodox. It is not the nineteenth century. Your willingness to learn about Judaism is more than enough to convince me that you are a suitable match for Vitya.”

Yuuri tries to process the compliment that Yakov has apparently just given him.

“I am more concerned about how this skating season is going to go with him pretending to be your coach still when we both know that I am really coaching both of you, and I will not have any hair left by the end of the season because of it,” Yakov continues, rubbing his temples. “So please. This is not a problem in the slightest. If it makes you feel better, I will say you have my blessing. But you don’t need it, because Vitya is a grown ass man, and _not my son_.”

Yuuri leaps to his feet, startling Yakov significantly, and he bows deeply. “_Spasibo bol’shoi!”_

The juxtaposition of the very Japanese bowing plus the Russian is enough to make Yakov let loose a deep, loud belly laugh that rings through the tiny office.

Startled, Yuuri straightens up out of his bow. Yakov has thrown his head back, eyes squinted shut with laughter.

Yakov doesn’t laugh this freely very often, and suddenly Yuuri sees humor in the situation too, and he starts laughing too.

This is of course, how Yuri Plisetsky finds them when he wanders in wondering where the hell his coach has gone off to when he was supposed to be back ten minutes ago.

“What the hell is wrong with both of you?”

Yakov and Yuuri stop laughing at the gruff intrusion, but then the question sends them into a new fit of laughter.

“Come back to the rink when you’re done being crazy,” Yuri says and slams the door on his way out.

After another minute, they finally regain control of their giggles, and Yakov clears his throat to reestablish a sense of decorum.

Yuuri wipes the tears that had built in the corners of his eyes and gathers himself as well. He stands and moves to the door, before he stops.

“Thank you, though,” Yuuri says. “I mean… I really appreciate being able to speak with you about this. About Viktor, and our, uh, unusual arrangement.”

“It has certainly been a source of frustration in the past,” Yakov admits, and Yuuri grimaces. “But I think if you had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have been able to accept it. But your work ethic is admirable, and you have a fundamental understanding of this sport.

“And perhaps more importantly, you were able to pull off world record-breaking skating with Vitya coaching you, if it can be called that. And that, Katsuki, is the sign of a truly gifted skater.”

Yuuri isn’t entirely sure how to take that last part, but he completely understands what Yakov means.

If he and Viktor were anyone else, Viktor would be a terrible coach. But what Yuuri needs from a coach is a keen eye for jump-techniques and _emotional _support.

It was a rough path to get to where they are now—Viktor’s understanding of anxiety and handling pressure and anyone who doesn’t have a veritable God-complex about their own skills has _drastically _improved since the first day he showed up in Hasetsu.

But Yuuri wouldn’t change it for the world, and if even Yakov thinks they’re a good fit for each other, then it can’t just be wishful thinking.

_Goyische _or not, Yuuri feels confident that there’s nothing standing in the way now of he and Viktor’s marital bliss.

*

Yuuri likes to think of himself as a decent cook.

He can make a variety of breakfast, lunch, and dinner foods, and not just traditional Japanese things but some American dishes, and even a few Russian things as well, thanks to his year living in St Petersburg now.

Faced with baking, however, he has a harder time.

Hence, Nikolai Plisetsky in his and Viktor’s kitchen.

Nikolai barely speaks English, and Yuuri barely speaks Russian.

Through gently gestures and tone of voice, they manage to make three loaves of _challah _together.

The first one, Nikolai makes himself, explaining, presumably, as he goes. (Yuuri only understands some of the words he’s saying, but making bread isn’t _that _hard, right?) He writes down some measurements or things he thinks will be useful to remember based on how insistent Nikolai sounds.

The second one, they do sort of together: Yuuri points at the thing he thinks he is supposed to add or do next, and Nikolai confirms. If Yuuri doesn’t quite do it right, Nikolai steps in to correct.

The third, Yuuri does on his own, with only Nikolai’s facial expressions to judge: raised eyebrows seem to mean he’s forgotten something, and a small frown appears to indicate he’s not doing it right.

A curt nodding of the head means he’s doing well, and he tries to get as many nods as he can.

The first one is clearly the best, though the second and third one still get a nod of approval from Nikolai.

Yuuri vows to practice more before he shows Viktor.

(Yuuri goes through a _lot _of flour.)

Finally, when he thinks he’s gotten the hang of it, he presents his loaves on a Friday evening after Viktor comes home from _shabbat_ services. He had told Yakov of his plans, so that Viktor would come home instead of eating with Yakov and the other skaters as usual—Yakov told Viktor that the dinner was going to be Saturday evening instead, and luckily, Viktor bought it.

“Welcome home!” Yuuri says. “And _shabbat shalom_.”

“_Gut Shabbos _to you too, Yuuri,” Viktor says, taking off his shoes.

They kiss briefly after the (admittedly short) time apart, but this time Viktor pauses.

Sniffs the air.

“Have you been… baking?”

Yuuri grins. “Come see for yourself.”

Viktor steps into the kitchen area, where the table is laden with a huge meal with kosher “katsudon” (chicken instead of pork), beet salad, and challah.

“Yuuri, this is amazing!” Viktor enthuses. “I’m so impressed.”

“Well have a seat, you have to taste it first before you can say it’s amazing.”

“Well, it definitely _looks _amazing, and since you made it, I’m sure it tastes perfect, too. And you made the challah with sesame seeds—did you know that’s my favorite?”

“I may have an insider source,” Yuuri says, trying to hide his smile.

They sit, and Viktor stares at everything as though he doesn’t know where to start.

Finally, he seems to decide that the chicken katsudon is the best place to start, as it’s meant to be eaten hot, so he picks up his chopsticks and digs in.

“_Vkusno_!” he exclaims, just as he did the first time he tasted Yuuri’s mother’s katsudon.

Yuuri eats his own, pleased with how it turned out, but even more pleased with how much Viktor loves his cooking.

(Yuuri is fairly sure he could make buttered toast and Viktor would praise his food preparation skills…)

When he’s finished every last scrap of chicken katsudon, he moves to the beet salad, which he devours with similar gusto.

They make limited conversation, mostly because Yuuri just enjoys watching Viktor get lost in consuming the food.

For a competitive athlete, he sure does love to eat, and Yuuri does his best not to begrudge that he never seems to gain weight from it—Yuuri has seen the man’s exercise routine, how intensely he tracks every calorie in and out—it’s not _entirely_ genetics that allows him to stay so chiseled.

There’s a sort of reverence when he reaches for the challah.

He brings it to his nose first, taking a deep inhale. “It smells perfect,” Viktor says. “That’s my favorite part, I think. How it smells. It reminds me of being a kid and smelling it baking on Friday afternoons when I came home from school.”

Yuuri is startled by the mention of Viktor’s childhood—he rarely discusses his life before he began skating with Yakov.

“My aunt did most of the baking in our house. And she would always make me my own mini loaf of challah, because otherwise I would eat the whole thing for everyone and no one else would have any.”

Yuuri laughs.

Viktor begins to tear the challah into pieces, almost reverently, before he continues. “When I got a little older, she let me help her bake them, showed me how to work the dough, but not too much, and how to braid it so it looked right.”

Viktor reaches for the salt, shaking it generously over the challah.

He mumbles a short prayer under his breath for the challah.

“It’s one of the only blessings I always recite,” Viktor explains when he’s finished. “My aunt always said it, and it just feels strange to eat challah without having said it.”

“You don’t have to justify it,” Yuuri says gently.

Viktor smiles warmly, and offers the plate to Yuuri, who takes a piece.

They pop the challah into their mouths, and Yuuri is glad that it turned out as well as he thought it had.

Viktor closes his eyes, savoring it a moment.

“I’m really very touched you learned how to make this,” Viktor says. “But now that I know you can make it, you’re going to have to make it _every _shabbat.”

“I will gladly make you challah every shabbat,” Yuuri says solemnly. “For the rest of our lives.”

Viktor must sense the meaning behind Yuuri’s words.

“Yuuri,” he says, and they hold each other’s gaze for a moment. “I am so glad that we found each other, and that I get to marry you. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“I think that’s me,” Yuuri says fondly. “And speaking of uh, marriage…”

Yuuri pulls a letter out of his back pocket and hands it to Viktor.

“What is this?” Viktor asks.

“Read it yourself and find out,” Yuuri says.

Yuuri hasn’t technically read it, as it’s written in Russian, but Yakov had translated it for him so he know the contents well enough.

Viktor reads it aloud under his breath, and Yuuri listens to the subtle differences of his voice when he speaks his native tongue versus in English (or in bumbling Japanese).

About three sentences in, he stops reading.

Stares at Yuuri.

Looks at the letter again.

Stares back at Yuuri.

“Rabbi Aronov agreed to marry us?” he confirms. “That’s… when… how?”

“Yakov helped me,” Yuuri explains. “I sort of asked Yakov for his approval of our marriage, since I’m not Jewish and I was nervous that it would stop us from being able to get married here. But Yakov was very helpful and took me to meet the rabbi, who then wrote this letter.

“We have a meeting with him next week,” Yuuri says shyly.

Viktor stands abruptly and walks around to the other side of the table so he can take Yuuri’s face in his hands and kiss him soundly.

“You’re too good to me,” Viktor says between kisses, a little bit breathlessly. “You do so much for me, and I am so, so grateful, and I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Yuuri feels the tears well up in his eyes, but for once, he’s not embarrassed or bothered by it.

“If someone had told me two years ago that this is where I would be right now, I would have thought they were absolutely insane,” Yuuri says. “Some days, I still can’t believe it.”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep reminding you,” Viktor teases, kissing Yuuri sweetly once more.

“Every shabbat?” Yuuri smiles.

“Every day,” Viktor asserts. “Just a little extra on shabbat.”

“I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading yet another niche fic lol  
come find me on [tumblr](https://www.ricekrispyjoints.tumblr.com), if you're into that kind of thing


End file.
